Firsts and Lasts: Jocasta Nu
by mtfrosty
Summary: The Chief Librarian meets many people over the years. A few of them become friends... One-shot format. Jocasta says hello to many, but to the few who keep coming back, she must eventually say goodbye. (Begins with familiar characters, but expect to meet a few strangers)
1. Yoda

**Just more snippets for your enjoyment... I plan to update two chapters at a time with this one. :) Let me know what you guys think of Jocasta! She's fast becoming a favorite of mine to write.**

* * *

 _"Google can bring you back 100,000 answers. A librarian can bring you back the right one." Neil Gaiman_

* * *

 _He is old and worn and wrinkly, and she is young and fresh and smooth-skinned. She is pale and he is… well, he's green. It is with great honor and no small amount of trepidation that she accepts his offer, the Council's offer. She accepts it with a padawan's bow (even though she is a knight now) and a title held by only one member in the entire Order: Chief Librarian._

 _It is a daunting task, but she is uniquely suited for it. The years ahead would prove that._

 _But right now she is new to this position, so she explores. No corner of the Archives is left untouched. The brightest corners she peruses with glee, and the darkest corners she surveys with caution (and a great deal of respect). Within weeks she has catalogued it all to memory._

 _When Master Yoda checks up with her two months later, she welcomes him to her domain with a soft smile._

 _The Grandmaster stops before her desk and looks up at her with an answering smile and a question in his eyes. "Comfortable, you are?"_

" _Very," she replies. Then she tilts her head, studying him the way she's studied the countless worlds nesting on her shelves. "If I may, master… are_ you _?"_

 _***oo***_

He's not and he never has been, but she has never been able to get a straight answer out of him. She is not about to waste time trying now. Not when everything is breaking down around them and his world is hanging on by a semblance of a thread. Yoda looks older than he's ever looked and when she glances at her own hands splayed on her desk, she can't help but frown at the wrinkles and age spots that have seemingly come out of nowhere (they've been there for years now).

"To the Senate, I must go," he murmurs.

Six words, but he means so much more. It hurts her that they've never been able to have the talk, the one where she tells him what she's found and he asks the questions that she's only ever seen in his eyes and never heard from his lips. It is a conversation that will never happen, because this is him saying goodbye. Jocasta can _feel_ it. So she comes out from behind her desk (something she doesn't do very often and only when it's important), and walks slowly over to him until she is only feet away. "Thank you for trusting me with this place," she murmurs, making sure to look directly into his ancient, grass-green eyes.

Yoda smiles back, and it's the first time he doesn't hide anything. His emotions are open to her: sorrow, joy, weariness, determination.

Fear.

And love. It's there too. "Hmmm… a good friend, you are, young Master Nu," he says, cackling a little. His ears are waggling a bit and he doesn't seem so hunched over.

Jocasta laughs a little and shakes her head. "Youth is relative, Master Yoda. I think that maybe I've grown older than you at this point, hm?" She quirks a brow, daring to tease this long-lived sage.

But the heaviness surrounding them only grows heavier and the mirth in both of their gazes is depressingly short-lived. Even the lights in her glorious sanctuary seem to lose some of their brightness. "Miss you, I will." Then he turns and shuffles towards the tall double doors that act as both entrance and exit.

She sighs, feeling the weariness settle deep into her bones as a chill snakes up her spine. "Goodbye, master."


	2. Yan Dooku

_He is tall for his age with hair as black as space and eyes that seem even darker. Jocasta has seen him in her sanctuary many times before (he is there almost every morning and it is a rare day when he doesn't show in the evenings after classes are through). Today he looks different and it takes her only a few seconds to see it._

 _There's a small tuft of hair peeking out from beneath the boy's right ear. With a tiny huff of admonishment directed entirely at herself (how long has he been apprenticed and she hasn't noticed?), she leaves her desk and walks over to the small reference desk that the boy is using. Her footsteps are quieter than most, but he hears her anyway. Turning, he flashes her a quick grin before refocusing on the screen in front of him. "Master Nu," he greets, voice level but beginning to waver in that awkward pitch between childhood and adulthood._

 _She smiles at him. "Good afternoon, Yan. Is there something I can help you with?"_

 _Their conversations have never journeyed beyond his homework and what she can do to help, but now that she knows that he'll be visiting her Archives for a great many years to come, she dares to go a little deeper. She helps him find the books he's looking for (he is writing a report on the various temptations that different species have towards the dark side) and then follows him to the exit._

 _This is not something she normally does and so he notices almost immediately. "Master?" he asks, turning those infinitely dark eyes on her._

 _Jocasta tilts her head, studies him for a moment, and then decides that what she is about to offer will benefit both of them for years to come. This boy especially. "I have a proposition for you, young man," she says in a stern voice._

 _Yan Dooku squares himself up to face her, shifting the two books to his other arm (they are thick books and he is still a little on the scrawny side). "Okay."_

 _She wonders very briefly why this boy trusts her so completely that he is not suspicious of her motives. Having observed him over the years and learned his reading habits, she has a feeling that trust does not and never will come easily to him. "Since you'll be living here for quite some time now," she begins, tweaking the tuft of hair with a bony finger, "I am wondering if you would be open to having tea with me every Taungsday morning before opening."_

 _This time, he hesitates. But not for long. "How early?"_

" _Five o' clock and not a minute later. That should give us an hour before I open the doors and at least another thirty minutes before someone that isn't you comes walking through them."_

 _This makes him smile and it changes his entire countenance. Jocasta hasn't seen him smile often and she decides she needs to see more of it. "I'll ask my master, but I would like that," he says in a quiet voice._

 _She wonders if he has many friends._

" _Very well. Assuming he permits it, I shall see you tomorrow morning for tea and some of my homemade biscuits. Now run along." He leaves with another shy smile._

 _Padawan Dooku arrives exactly on time the next morning looking far too alert for such an early hour. She serves him hot muja tea (he makes an admirable effort to keep his distaste from showing, but she makes a mental note to try something different next week…) and soft biscuits while they chat in her private quarters. The eleven-year-old is surprisingly talkative for someone who comes off as reserved and suspicious of every sentient being's motives._

 _She learns that he is fond of philosophy ("It's important to know how others think.") and is currently bilingual; he is attempting to become trilingual ("I'm trying to learn Ithorese, but it's going to take a looong time."). He has a passion for history and detests politics._

" _Politicians are stupid," he declares before stuffing another biscuit in his mouth. Jocasta stares at him for a moment, stupefied by the fact that he is accomplishing this feat in a manner that could almost be described as 'dignified'. Then she blinks and takes note of the way his eyes are glinting with something that makes her think his statement is not supposed to mean what any other normal boy would mean by it. 'Stupid' from the mouth of this child seems to mean 'unintelligent' rather than simply a word used to express youthful disinterest._

" _Stupid?" she echoes, raising a single brow at him._

 _He blushes ever-so-slightly, but still meets her gaze directly. "They don't get anything done. They're too selfish," he declares around a mouthful of soggy biscuit._

 _Chuckling, she smiles at him and decides that he doesn't detest politics; instead, he seems interested in them enough to pick out the stupid decisions from the less selfish ones. "Perhaps, but isn't everyone to some degree? Don't your philosophy books have something to say on that?"_

 _Yan swallows and reaches for the last biscuit. His hand halts a hairsbreadth away and he shoots her a questioning look. "Have you had any of these?" When she shakes her head, he shoves the plate in her direction. "Sorry," he mutters while reaching for his tea (which he so obviously doesn't like, yet is forcing it down anyways)._

 _Jocasta stares at him before accepting the apology and the biscuit. "How is your paper going?" she asks, shifting topics._

 _For the first time since she invited him into her quarters, Yan Dooku refuses to meet her gaze. But he still answers. "Fine."_

 _(Jocasta studies people like she studies books, and she is very good at hearing what isn't said.)_

 _She lets Yan's short answer do its job. "I'm happy to hear that."_

 _***oo***_

He arrives at five o' clock precisely, just as he's done for the last seven decades. His hair is a crisp shade of white now and there is no trace of the noble black that used to compliment his dark eyes so well. Those eyes look even darker against the pale colors of age.

They are also simmering with emotions that Jocasta has become far too familiar with during the past few decades of their friendship: anger, frustration, disbelief.

Sorrow.

It is a deep, deep sorrow that she finds herself succumbing to immediately. "Oh, Yan," she murmurs, hobbling forward as fast her old legs will carry her (the Force can only do so much for human Jedi who have lived past the century mark). When she reaches him, she reaches forward to gently grasp his arm.

He lets her. Yan Dooku, esteemed Jedi Sentinel and survivor of dozens of dark worlds that would have overwhelmed far lesser (and softer) Jedi, _lets_ her. This says far more than he ever could. A shudder involuntarily racks his body and she knows that he isn't cold and that it isn't from age.

"He's gone, master," he mutters, eyes briefly closing before fluttering open to stare down at her (he towers over her now). "I have to go."

Jocasta hears him clearly. "You're leaving the Order," she clarifies with a sigh. In all honesty, she's been expecting this for more than a few years, but she wishes that Qui-gon didn't have to die in order for him to finally make the decision that he should have made far sooner. She wonders if it is too late for him to establish himself as Count of Serenno (she knows that he'll try, but she has her doubts regarding his willingness to fulfill that role without becoming something more). "So this is goodbye?" she asks, unable to keep her voice from quivering.

The smile that he gifts her with is a sad one, but there is a smidge of joy there as well. For a moment she is incredibly angry with their fellow Jedi, with the Council, with Yoda himself. How could they have failed him so badly? How the _stars_ did this man become known as a _dark_ Jedi?

Because for all of his reckless (necessary) forays into worlds drenched in darkness and madness, this is the first time that she believes he has been broken. This is the first time that she feels his signature grow a shade dimmer (most Jedi have always seen a dim light in him, but she's only ever seen something impossibly bright behind his black eyes).

He pulls a small, unmarked package out of his robes and extends it towards her. "This is an incredibly pathetic gift for someone who has meant so much, but I don't have the time to do anything more…" he trails off, looking lost and determined at the same time.

She knows what it is before she has it in her hands. Its smell is tangy, sweet, and sharp. "Muja tea," she says with a gentle smile. Meeting his eyes, she laughs. "You hate this stuff."

"With a passion," he quips with a shadow of a smirk. "I saw it in a market during my last stint in the Outer Rim and couldn't resist. I actually tried it to make sure that it would live up to your sickeningly sweet expectations. I assure you it does."

Her laughter is hollow. She grasps his old, wrinkled hand in her ancient ones and squeezes it. "I thank you, my friend. You will be missed."

His dark eyes are strangely warm as he drops his hand back to his side. "And you will not be forgotten," he declares in a broken cadence.

Sorrow and anger.

He leaves and she never sees him again. She is glad of that.

She weeps when news of Geonosis reaches her, and when he dies at the hands of Anakin Skywalker she brews a cup of muja tea and sits at her small table alone, remembering a boy who admonished politicians for their selfish hearts while simultaneously apologizing for eating all of the biscuits save one.

"We're all a might bit selfish, Yan," she mutters to an empty room.


	3. Qui-gon Jinn

_It is the middle of the week. Piles of uncatalogued material litter her desk, initiates crowd her aisles researching for final projects or studying for exams, and Jocasta is exhausted. With a quiet huff of irritation, she scoots a finished stack of holovids to the end of her desk and turns to glare at the waiting tower of books that sits to her right. Two more stacks sit neatly lined up behind it and she barely refrains from groaning out loud. Grabbing the first book, she scans the title and rolls her eyes. Yet another beginner text on Outer Rim culture and ethics (as if ethics even exist out there). For at least the eighth time in the last hour, she silently curses Master Tanzo and his infatuation with the Outer Rim territories. Then she curses the unfortunate procrastination bug that seems to have bitten every last one of his students._

 _Forty minutes later, she has managed to check in six books, help fifteen children, and assist one very disgruntled looking electrician with a lighting issue. She sits back down and takes a moment to rest her head in a hand._

 _A soft scratching noise breaks her brief moment of rest. When she raises her weary head, she finds a pair of dirt-stained hands shoving an equally dirty pot across her desk. In the pot, rooted in mussed up soil, is a rather… exuberant… leafy plant sprouting tiny white flowers. Blinking, Jocasta peers around the plant (she has to shove a couple of leaves aside to do so) and is amused to find a brown-haired boy with a look of pure concentration on his face. His brows are shoved together and his mouth is puckered up as he reaches as far as he can (which is far for his age) across her desk to get the plant where he wants it._

" _Excuse me, mister…" She discovers that she doesn't know this initiate's name._

 _Smiling (and she notices that it is not a cocksure smile or a sly smile or a sheepish grin, but the real thing), he comes to the same conclusion and offers her his name. "Qui-gon, Master Nu. Qui-gon Jinn. You look like you're having a bad day, so I thought that maybe these flowers would help."_

 _Flowers. A boy barely into his teens has brought her flowers. "Um… thank you, Qui-gon," she stutters. What, exactly, is she supposed to do with these? The gesture is nice, she admits, but it's not as if she has anywhere to put them..._

" _They won't survive the night, master," the boy says, interrupting her thoughts (and seeming to know exactly what she's thinking). Somehow, he declares this disturbing truth with the smile still plastered on his face. "You won't have to take care of them."_

" _How thoughtful," she commends with a nod of thanks. The surface of her desk is mostly buried, but she manages to find a large enough gap a little to her left. White flowers peek out from behind stacks of finished work and she hums softly to herself. "Where did you get them?"_

" _Do you hear them?"_

 _Clever, but obvious. She lets the diversion succeed for now, but only because his question is an odd one. "Hear them?" she repeats._

" _They sing." Qui-gon takes a second to sweep her desk clear of dirt (it goes on the floor, but at least he tried) and then turns to leave. "Have a good day, master."_

 _Jocasta watches him until he disappears from her sight and then turns her attention to his unexpected gift. With some considerable effort, she manages to drop all of her immediate concerns and focus purely on this happy-looking plant. To her astonishment, she finds that she not only senses the flowers in the Force (it's a soft, comforting signature), but she_ hears _them as well. And they are, in fact, singing. Flowers aren't sentient and so the song doesn't seem to have any sort of rhythm or steady cadence to its scattered notes, but what it does have is joy. There is a distinct tone of contented happiness to this plant that is oddly contagious._

 _When she plugs a description of the plant into a search box, she finds what she's looking for and is surprised to discover that the boy had been right: Vita Brevisia is the plant's scientific name, meaning simply "short life". As in not even twenty-four hours. These happy, lovely little flowers will be dead and gone shortly after the sun sets._

 _It makes her sad._

 _Until she hears them sing again and then she decides that if this plant can be that joyous with only a few short hours to live, then she can be perfectly content with her current circumstances. She makes a note to find young Qui-gon and give him a more appropriate thank you later._

 _***oo***_

"Good morning, master."

The deep, slightly accented voice comes from behind her and she jumps, startled. Turning with a frown, she raises her head and tips her chin up so that she can look directly into his eyes. "Qui-gon, why do you _insist_ on sneaking up on me every time you come for a visit?"

The giant rogue of a man gives her a half-smile, half-smirk beneath his beard and dips his head. "My apologies, but I make no promises to do otherwise." His hands are tucked behind his back, but now he brings them forward with a small package in tow. "Obi-wan and I just returned from Tatooine and decided to get you something to try to make up for our lack of visits lately. It's not much, but we think you'll appreciate it."

Jocasta raises a brow at him as she accepts the small package in her hands (it's about the size of a large flimsiweight, but it's a might bit heavier). "Oh? Should I be worried? I'm not about to unleash a tiny monster on my library am I?"

The man only chuckles good-naturedly. "Not this time," he assures her. While he waits for her to open it, he looks around and hums softly to himself. "Did I come too early?" he suddenly asks, flicking his sea-blue eyes back to her.

"Too early?" she echoes, focusing on the box that the brown paper had been covering. "No of course not… I was only tidying up a bit before I open the doors…" She trails off with a muted gasp. Upon lifting the lid, she discovers a polished sphere of the clearest glass nestled inside. Within the sphere are hundreds of feathery lines all trailing off from a single point in the center. "What is this?"

When he doesn't answer right away, she raises her eyes and finds that he is studying the glass sphere with a gentle smile on his face. His eyes are glinting with something _light_ and Jocasta swears that his signature just flared briefly in silent laughter. "This," he begins, gesturing with a hand to effortlessly raise the orb so that it's hovering between them, "is what happens when lightning strikes sand."

"Lightning…" She turns her attention back to the subject of their discussion. Could something so beautiful come from something so destructive?

"Yes, lightning. Obviously it's a little rougher around the edges when it happens, but some locals collect it and polish it up until it, well, until it looks like this."

They are both staring at it with mirrored looks of childlike wonder on their faces. Jocasta tosses a grin in his direction after a few minutes. "I suppose that you, in particular, are getting some sort of twisted satisfaction from gifting this to a Jedi."

Qui-gon, predictably, grins in return. "Irony abounds, but I figured that you, at least, would not attempt to regift it."

"I am becoming more certain with each passing minute that being apprenticed to Yan was the worst thing that could have ever happened to you. Your sense of humor used to be far less shady."

They both share a laugh at that before her younger friend turns serious (but even now his eyes still glint with the boundless joy that he's never been able to subdue). "I came to tell you something as well, if I may." When she nods, he continues. "The Force is… uncertain. No, that's the wrong word for it… un _settled_. At least as it pertains to me."

Yes, well. There is not another Jedi alive that sees the Force or listens to the Force quite like Qui-gon Jinn (not even Yoda), and so she wonders what he means by 'unsettled'. "So… this gift is to mean something more?" she guesses.

The smile that he flashes her is reminiscent of his childhood years, but then again he has never really changed. There have been tragedies and troubles and struggles to be sure, but she has never met an individual who can weather such things as well as the man before her. "You always did understand me better than most," he murmurs. "I want it to be a reminder."

"Of what, Qui-gon?" Something tight is coiling in her gut at this sudden turn in their conversation. She needs more of an explanation, but she knows she won't get one. Not with the look that he is giving her now.

"The Force only reveals so much, master," he says, almost apologetically. Then he lowers his hand and the sphere returns to its box. "I don't know what the next couple of weeks will bring, but I know change is coming. I am not sure what part I will play in it or if I will be around at the end of it, but this…" He reaches forward with warm, calloused hands to fold her own tiny hands around the box. Deep, blue eyes find hers and hold them. "This is proof."

Jocasta has no words, so she waits silently for him to finish.

He does.

"Proof that something beautiful can come as a result of something terrible. I know the Council, as well as my old master, fear darkness even if they claim the opposite. Perhaps they don't understand the Force as well as they think they do."

Despite the fact that her throat feels tight and her hands are clenched _very_ tightly around her precious gift (as if it's a lifeline attached to something too _good_ to fail), she manages to huff at his words. "You may be wise beyond your years, my friend, but don't disrespect those whose wisdom might not agree with your own."

He only smiles. "I mean no disrespect. I only wonder if, in their desire to understand the Force and its ways, they forget to _trust_ it as they should."

She blinks.

"Something dark _is_ coming. Master Dooku has said so for years, and everything I've seen tells me that he's right." His brows furrow as he glances at the glass sphere one last time. "I want you to look at this and remember that no matter how dark things get, the Force will provide something beautiful in the end. Darkness doesn't deserve to be feared. My old master is right in this, but I think that he fears it very much." When he looks at her again, she is sure that his eyes are glistening. "I don't fear it. If the Force wills it, then it will happen. It's that simple. The only thing we need to figure out is what to do with it."

Jocasta tilts her head, smiling just a little (it's a joyful smile, but sad too, and she wonders if he notices). "And what do we do with it?"

When he smiles, there is an echo of her sadness in his eyes (this catches her entirely off guard, because his eyes have never really looked that way before). "We face it, we fight it, we accept that it's there and that it might be there for a while." He pauses. "And we hope. Not some wishy-washy plea that things _might_ get better. No, that's foolish. _Real_ hope. In the face of _that,_ darkness has no chance."

Something strikes her then, and his words begin to fall into place. "You and Obi-wan have been assigned a new mission, haven't you?"

"Naboo," is all he says before he turns to leave. "Take good care of that, will you?"

"I promise," she calls after his retreating back. When he exits through the tall, hand-crafted doors, his warmth and joy exit with him, but not his words. They linger in her thoughts for years to come and when she forgets, her eyes catch a glimpse of lightning-sculpted glass peeking out from behind the piles of clutter on her work surface.

Then she remembers to hope.


	4. Obi-wan Kenobi

_This one is a nuisance, she thinks to herself. It's the first time that they've met and she hopes that if he becomes a padawan he'll at least deign to improve upon his first impression. Jocasta's fairly certain he'll be apprenticed, too. The Kenobi boy is far too bright in the Force to be ignored (and she_ knows _he's Obi-wan Kenobi; the boy has acquired something of a reputation, not to mention that not many humans have hair that grows in such a bright shade)._

" _Stand up, lad," she barks out, gesturing sharply. "This is a library, young man,_ not _a place for your foolish games."_

 _The boy is hiding behind her desk (Force help her…), crouched down like a young vagabond hiding from the local authorities. As if he could ever be successful at hiding with that flame-bright hair of his. "Sorry, master," he murmurs and seems to mean it, yet he continues to crouch while peeking around the corner._

 _That pushes her over. Jocasta stands, glaring. "Up, Kenobi, up! I will not harbor disobedient boys such as yourself, and I will especially not be responsible for aiding a hypocrite. Whoever you're hiding from in this sacred Temple, you can and_ will _stand and face them." Her voice is firm and it echoes in the quiet room around them. To her consternation, the few Jedi who are in there with them look more amused than offended by his antics._

 _Young Kenobi looks more than offended enough for the lot of them as it is. "Hypocrite, master?" he asks, standing and finally,_ finally, _giving her his full attention. Blue eyes with flecks of green in them are spitting fire in her general direction, but he still sneaks a glance towards the entrance every few seconds (it seems that she_ doesn't _have his full attention after all)._

" _Oh my," she quips dryly, cocking a brow at him. "Have I touched on a nerve? As far as I am concerned, those who apologize for actions that they continue in are hypocrites of the highest order."_

 _He flushes red (from embarrassment or anger, she can't truly tell…) and says nothing, only continuing to stand and stew. She is saved (distracted?) from admonishing him further by the soft tapping of a stick belonging to a certain Jedi master. Sighing in exasperation, she turns her head to address Master Yoda, but the boy beats her to it._

" _Master!" he squeaks, looking like he would rather be anywhere else._

 _Interesting._

 _Yoda hobbles closer and only now does she see that his normally gentle eyes are narrowed and glinting with… irritation? This can't possibly be anger, because then the boy would truly be in trouble. "Very rude, you are," Yoda huffs at Kenobi. "Apologize, you must!"_

 _Rude? This from possibly the most patient being in the known universe? It is, quite possibly, the worst insult Jocasta has ever heard the Grandmaster give._

 _Kenobi, for his part, looks incredibly irritated himself (even if he_ is _still cowering behind her desk). "I didn't mean anything by it…" he starts before crossing his arms (she thinks that his age mates probably find this intimidating). "I just didn't_ like _it. I shouldn't have to apologize for my Force-given taste buds."_

 _Ah. Now she knows. And now she is downright amused. Either this boy is incredibly foolish or incredibly confident (foolishly so), because it is rare that a Jedi finds it within himself to argue with the great Master Yoda. "Invited to lunch, were you?" she asks, managing to keep a straight face. "A proper guest would thank Master Yoda for his hospitality and_ politely _decline the offered meal. An experienced Jedi would know such things."_

 _Kenobi is looking at her like she's grown a third head. Or perhaps he's looking through her and not at anyone at all, because something seems to click in his head. Now_ his _eyes are narrowing and glittering with something dangerous. "That snot-nosed barve," she hears him mutter under his breath (she is not sure to which of his friends he is referring, but she dearly hopes that whoever it is will steer clear of her library…). "I should have known."_

" _As I just told you," she agrees, smirking. "Now. If you would kindly move away from my desk, you and Master Yoda can continue your squabble outside of my doors." For a moment he looks impressed that she not only dismissed him, but Yoda as well._

" _Decline my meals, you should not," the green Jedi huffs. "Delicious they are, hmph. Very nutritious."_

 _Jocasta turns to give him a sweet smile. "Perhaps for your species they are, master," she offers. "I'm afraid that humans don't have the stomach for certain… things." (Of all times for her extensive vocabulary to fail her…)_

 _Kenobi is smirking at her now (it isn't hard to see how he's earned his reputation as something of a troublemaker). "Things, master?"_

 _Throwing all possible decorum out the metaphorical window, she shoots him a nasty glare. "Yes 'things', young Kenobi. It is a vague, yet incredibly precise, term that can be used in a variety of contexts to refer to that which all contributing parties are aware of and yet is too incredible for those who speak Basic to describe. Thus, we are forced to use terms like 'things'."_

 _A single fiery brow shoots upwards as he stares her down. "It can also be used in a distinctly derogatory fashion to refer to that which is too disgusting to warrant a description in anything but the most vile of languages." This he says with a deadpan expression and a burst of silent laughter in the Force. "Master Nu," he drawls (and it is, in fact, a_ drawl _), "what do you have to say about Master Yoda's culinary abilities?"_

 _Without blinking, she shoots him the same sweet smile that she gifted Yoda only moments before. "I'm afraid my opinion doesn't matter as I've never been privileged enough to try Master Yoda's… things." She is winking at Kenobi before she can help herself._

 _Yoda huffs irritably and he turns to hobble away. "Hmph. Very rude, you all are. Invite you again, I will NOT."_

 _The Kenobi boy graces her with a toothy grin before he turns to leave (and Force help her, he has_ dimples _…)._

" _Not so fast, young man. You owe me a week's worth of dusting for your disrespect. Don't assume you've gotten out of everything."_

 _He doesn't stop walking, but he does shoot her a smile over his shoulder. "Yes, master."_

 _(Yes, he's a nuisance, but she decides that she likes him anyway.)_

 _***oo***_

The quiet shuffling of his robes is the only thing that alerts her to his presence. The Archives have been depressingly devoid of Jedi lately and she can't help but feel a bit uneasy. Are things coming to a head? She feels as though something is coming to an end soon, but she can't put a finger on _what,_ exactly, that thing might be.

Jocasta turns from her monitor to see who it is and smiles when she sees that it's Obi-wan. It's been a long while since she's seen him last and as he gets closer, she notices that the gray around his temples has grown grayer and the wrinkles around his eyes have multiplied. She knows that he's only in his late thirties, but most would estimate at least a decade older.

His gait is confident enough, as always, but the slightest limp makes her smile falter. "Please tell me you went to the Healing Wing before you came here," she says, eyeing him sternly.

The grin that he flashes at her is tempered by age and war and death, but it is still the grin of his childhood (joy, mischief, laughter and affection shining between those star-forsaken, though harder to see now, dimples). "Of course I didn't," he retorts, eyes glinting with undisguised mirth (they are gray eyes now, flecked with blue, but she tries to ignore that). "They hate me over there. I wanted to visit someone who actually enjoys my company."

Jocasta huffs, exasperated. "Well then perhaps you should visit me more than once every cycle. You come so rarely these days that each time I see you I'm forced to make a mental note of all of the changes you've gone through."

He blinks, growing serious. "I apologize. It's just that with the war and all, I am barely here for a day or two before the Council sends me somewhere else." (He is _on_ the Council now, but he seems to forget that little detail more often than not.)

"Yes, yes, you've made quite the name for yourself haven't you," she says with a wry smirk. "Will you stay for a cup of tea before you run off again?"

The tiniest hesitation is answer enough, but she lets him fumble through the split second anyway. He has become so adept at wrangling tantrum-induced politicians and stuck-up nobles that she wonders if he has forgotten what it feels like to be a fumbler like the rest of them. "I truly am sorry, Master Nu…" he begins.

"I know you are, young man," she says warmly. "You go be a Jedi Master for a few weeks and then we can have that tea when you return. Deal?"

"If the Force wills it," he mutters, looking away. This makes her frown and her uneasy feeling only grows when he runs a tired hand through his hair. Only now does she notice that his robes carry scorch marks and smudges of dirt and are looking a little run down at the edges. Before she can avert her eyes, he catches her looking and smiles sadly. "I hope to see you again, master, but if not…"

"You foolish boy," she murmurs, echoing his smile. "You've gone and become a pessimist, haven't you?"

"Realist."

"You're lying to yourself if you believe that." Jocasta turns back to her monitor, types a few quick lines, and then shuts it down. It's late and she needs her bed, but first things first… she rests her elbows on her desk and folds her hands, fixing the younger man with a stern look. "We all have eyes, and even those who are blind are not ignorant of the goings on in this galaxy. This war has made realists of us all, so it is redundant to call yourself that. All that matters now is what you choose to do when everything is shattering around you: will you hope or will you despair? Optimist or pessimist, Master Kenobi. Those are your options now."

He frowns, gray eyes narrowing a little. "I just said –"

" _Convince_ me, young man." She holds his gaze, refusing to let him get out of this. "You, of all people, should know that a person can say a hundred different things and not mean a single one of them. You say that you hope to see me again, but you believe that you will not. And perhaps you won't." At this, his frown deepens and she only smiles a little. "In fact, I think you can sense as well as I can that something big is about to happen. Something that will bring some sort of end to all of this."

"One can only hope," he says with a pitiful attempt at a smirk.

She chuckles at him and leans back. "Yes, yes, but there are two kinds of hope. One _wishes_ that good will triumph and the other _knows_ that it will. I fear that you've fallen prey to the wishful sort."

He blinks.

She stands and walks around her desk. This close, she is surprised by how dull his brilliant features have become (the lights don't make his hair catch fire anymore, his dimples are present yet hidden by a beard, his eyes have literally changed, and there's a slump to his shoulders that hadn't been there before…). So she hugs him.

And the poor grown-up nuisance of a Jedi hugs her back. His arms squeeze her tight for the briefest of moments before he releases her. "Thank you, master," he murmurs.

"Hope is a patient thing, Obi-wan," she says as he begins to walk away. "Don't lose it."

"I'll try not to." Four words, tossed over his retreating shoulder almost haphazardly, but she knows he's serious.

And then he's gone.


End file.
